Love Bug: The Matchmaker Phenomenon
by nitefang
Summary: The entire Wizarding community seems to be speechless, over the edge and just breathless. Hopeless, they're head over heels in the moment. Who knew they'd get hit by that love bug? Breaking off long-standing relationships and forsaking personal vows, everyone's taken a flying leap and falling in love. There must be something in the water.
1. Chapter 1

**As you probably may already know, the summary is a spin on the Jonas Brothers' "Lovebug." Because I'm just a lame-ass person like that, yo. Get used to it.**

**I meant for this to be just one giant one-shot.**

**I changed my mind.**

**I also wanted to be a doctor. **

**I changed my mind **_**real quick**_** about that.**

**Props to those who can stick to their decisions to pursue a medical degree. **_**Hardcore**_** props. **

**Though this has absolutely nothing to do with this story.**

**Moving on.**

* * *

**1**

* * *

"_We eloped!"_

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley simply sat there, utterly flabbergasted. Bill had his hand over his mouth, seemingly torn between dumbstruck shock and uproarious laughter, while Fleur's pale blond eyebrows were high on her forehead and her eyes were wide as Quaffles. Charlie's cup was overflowing as he had not yet put down the pitcher of pumpkin juice. A piece of chicken fell out of Fred's open mouth and a broccoli head out of George's. Ginny and Hermione blinked, and then blinked at each other. Ron choked on a mouthful of stew; Harry pounded on his back while Luna patted his cheek with a pleasant smile and raised her wand to spray the table with confetti. Percy continued to stand in front of the entrance to the kitchen, one arm around Audrey's shoulder and the other proudly on his hip, chest puffed and cheeks pink.

"W-Were you—were you _drunk_?" spluttered Mrs. Weasley, sending Charlie and the twins into a round of laughter.

"Mum!" admonished Ginny, seeing the huge smile on Percy's face freeze in place. She scrambled out of her chair and threw herself into Percy's arms. "Congratulations, you two! When did this happen?"

"I-It was really spur-of-the-moment," answered Percy, his good mood returning as he wrapped an arm around Ginny's back and kissed the top of her head. "Audrey and I just decided to do it in the middle of dinner at the Three Broomsticks."

"Because Rosmerta's cauliflowers remind everyone of marriage," deadpanned Bill, a smirk threatening the straight line of his mouth.

"I suppose they're reminiscent of wedding bouquets," said Fred.

George nodded in agreement. "And hemorrhoids."

Ron looked he was dying, and Hermione looked like she was about to throw her spoon at the twins. Bill was on the verge of tears.

Mr. Weasley snapped out of his stupor, stumbled away from the table, nearly knocking his chair to the floor, and pulled Audrey into a hug. "A brilliant decision, if I may say so!"

Mrs. Weasley, somewhat regaining her wits, threw the soup ladle over her shoulder and promptly wrenched both her son and his new wife into a bone-cracking hug. "Welcome to the family!" she blubbered, already well on the way to a good, happy cry. This prompted the rest of the table to rise and greet Percy and Audrey

"_Félicitations!"_

"This is great!"

"Happy for you, mate!"

"Let's break out the cauliflower florets!"

Hermione gave her congratulations and hugged the newlyweds tightly. The advent of the Second Wizarding War had repaired the relationship between Percy and his family. He was still a fairly rigid kind of bloke, but the presence of Audrey in his life had made quite a difference. He even did George a favor and filled in for him at the joke shop once. From Fred's evaluation, it was now law that Percy would be the very _last resort_ should such a case ever arise again.

However, _elopement_ was more than a bit out of character for him. It was bold and brash for most of the family, what the more _Percy_? While Hermione didn't doubt their genuine feelings for each other—since Percy and Audrey truly were in love, judging by the way they hardly ever let go of one another—she did worry about the sudden rise in such occurrences.

"You _must_ have a reception here for all of us who couldn't attend the ceremony," said Mrs. Weasley, wiping her tears on her apron as the others began to take their seats again.

"Of course, Mum," said Percy, pulling a chair out for his wife and sitting himself down beside her. "We should have it soon, though. We've got a big project coming up—"

"There it is—proof that he's not an imposter!" cried Fred, pointing his finger. Ginny, sitting beside him, grabbed the arm he held out and snapped it back into his face.

"No, no," said Percy, waving it off. "It's understandable. This _was_ out of the blue, but it would've happened regardless." He and Audrey turned to each other, exchanging love-struck smiles.

The twins pretended to gag, and Mrs. Weasley sighed in happiness.

"You'll never guess who else we saw at the Marriage Registry counter, though," said Audrey, blushing and changing the subject as Mrs. Weasley came around with a new ladle to deliver spoonful after spoonful of stew into her bowl.

"Millicent Bulstrode and Viktor Krum?" asked George.

"Not quite," said Percy, serving Audrey some of the green beans. He adjusted his glasses and said, "Cho Chang and Marcus Flint."

Ron choked again.

"Wow, Harry, did you Confund the poor girl?" asked Fred, earning a scowl from Harry as he pounded on Ron's back again.

"Oh, be nice," said Hermione, not bothering to hide her small smile. "Marcus Flint got his teeth fixed two years ago. He's not too bad-looking these days. You can't hold that against Cho."

"Granger, you've been looking at other men?!" cried Fred, hand on his chest. "You're breaking my heart!"

Ginny punched him despite her chuckles. "I heard about that, actually. Apparently it was a fairly new development."

"Stranger things have happened," said Ron, grinning and winking at Luna, who pecked his cheek and settled her hand under the table in highly inappropriate areas that made Ron turn red and move her hand elsewhere.

"I think it's adorable," said Luna, unaffectedly studying the potato on the end of her fork. " They're actually quite good for each other. She's so nice it rubs off, and he's blunt enough to counteract her more indecisive tendencies. She admired some of his Quidditch plays back at school, and he always thought she was cute—albeit a bit confused."

"Honestly," muttered Ginny, rolling her eyes. "That girl was Confunded long before Harry even came into the picture—spent a good portion of her life confused about a lot of things, most of all her feelings."

Hermione _tsk_-ed. "She was a teenager who lost her boyfriend. She had every right to be confused—not that I'm defending her stringing Harry along. I prefer that she'd have dealt with her emotions before attempting any type of relationship, but I'm glad she's sorted herself out now. I hope she and Flint are happy."

"I think it is beautiful zat everyone is pairing off," said Fleur. "Ze war 'as put so much into perspective."

"Lee Jordan's just proposed to Angelina the other day," said Fred. "He's been in love with her since forever."

"Yeah, finally took the initiative after _five_ years," chortled George.

Ginny passed Audrey the gravy boat. "Did you hear about Alicia Spinnet though?"

"No, why?" asked Hermione.

"She's dumped Roger Davies for Justin Finch-Fletchley," answered George. "Completely out the blue."

Fred turned a wry grin on his twin. "And who told you that?"

George blushed. "Katie Bell."

"Alicia's been with Davies for _years_!" Hermione glanced at Ginny before fixing her incredulity on George. "How could they just break up out of the blue? Did he cheat on her?"

George shook his head, glad he and his love life were out of the spotlight. "Nope."

"Did…_she_ cheat on him?"

"Of course not," said Ginny.

"So then why did they break things off?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny shrugged. "Apparently, they just realized things weren't going to work out."

"That's not the first time I've heard about this," said Charlie after he swallowed his food. "Couple in my year did the same thing. Been together almost a decade just to break up, saying it wasn't meant to be."

Bill hummed. "There's something to be said about the steady increase of couples these days—regardless of if they're broken off long-standing relationships to enter into another." He speared a potato with his fork. "Everyone's pairing off—either getting married or seriously committing to each other. Give it a couple more weeks, and I'm sure half the female population will be pregnant."

Hermione looked up from her food in time to catch Percy's meaningful glance. After a second, she turned back to her plate, but not before catching the raised eyebrow Fred was sending her.

"I suppose it's everyone's biological clocks ticking?" Ginny shrugged, stirring her stew.

The twins froze, dropping their utensils onto their plates dramatically.

"If you're speaking from experience, Ginevra—"

"—do _not_ continue."

"Seconded," added Charlie sternly.

Ron, turning a bit purple at the thought, glared at Harry pointedly. "Thirded."

"Not a word," said Harry, unfazed.

"_You_, not a word!" snapped Ron, glaring at Harry. Hermione could almost hear him mentally crying, _You sister-defiler!_ It wouldn't be the first time Ron said anything of the sort.

Ginny didn't even look up from her food. "Get over yourselves. If you're going to protest every time I even_ allude_ to having a uterus, you need to re-evaluate your lives and your romantic relationships. If you can't handle a girl in your family, you can't handle a woman in your life."

The Weasley boys blinked, and Mrs. Weasley looked downright smug.

"Men reference their penises enough in casual conversation, I don't see why girls shouldn't do the same for their own reproductive organs," added Luna pleasantly.

Fleur looked torn between agreeing and wanting to change the subject entirely. Ginny had no such qualms, nodding emphatically. Hermione could only smirk at the boys' faces.

"After all, in this context, women are far more durable than men. Kicking a girl in the pubic area may hurt, but kicking a boy will effectively down him. Also commendable is the strength of a uterus, expanding and contracting during a pregnancy. Let's not mention the woman herself for enduring her period every month."

"Yes, please, let's _not _mention that," choked out Charlie.

Mr. Weasley, Bill, Percy, and Harry wisely kept their mouths shut, Percy and Mr. Weasley even go so far as to nod understandingly at Luna's statement. Ron, on the other hand, had buried his bright maroon face in his hands to weather the storm. Fred, George, and Charlie just looked aghast—_accepting_, but aghast.

With a wry smile directed at Luna, Fleur decided to save the boys before their heads imploded any more. "Speaking of men who think with zeir genitals, I recently saw Cormac McLaggen in Diagon Alley."

"Oh, Cormac," sighed George, picking up his fork and knife again.

Fred mirrored his twin with an equally heavy sigh. "How _is_ that smashing fellow these days?"

"Still inciting people to smash his face in?" added George.

"Quite zee opposite actually," said Fleur. "I saw 'im with Susan Bones."

Ron choked. "No! Really?!"

"You mean 'with' as in, she was telling him off for being a raging twat?" asked Charlie, grimacing incredulously.

"Charlie!" cried Mrs. Weasley.

Fleur scowled. "No, she was 'olding 'is 'and and wiping ice cream off 'is face."

"Someone's Confunded Susan!" cried Fred.

"Well, good thing that witch has one of the meanest left hooks I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing," said Hermione, glaring at Fred, who only winked at her, grinning.

"It's got to be another case of whatever seems to be going around," said Bill.

"Oh, lighten up," said Charlie, whacking his brother on the shoulder with the back of his spoon. "This is just the typical case of the post-war love bug. Or lust bug, whichever."

"Just because _you're_ going around like a hormonal teenager doesn't mean the rest of the Wizarding World is on the same boat," said Ginny.

Charlie smirked patronizingly. "Gin, they are _certainly_ on that boat, and you can be sure they're rocking it."

Mrs. Weasley took her turn to smack _him_ upside the head. "Don't be crass."

"Out of everything else that's been brought up in this conversation, that's what you dispute?!" cried Ron, who was ignored.

Charlie grimaced. "Oh, come on, Mum, we're all adults here."

Teddy's squeal punctuated Charlie's sentence, and the burly redhead couldn't stop the grin as he craned his neck over people's heads to look for the boy. Teddy, hair an electric blue, pulled himself up to his feet so he could peer over the railing of the playpen and grin at everyone.

"See, Mum? Teddy's a big boy. He knows how to conduct himself around an adult conversation," said Charlie.

"Fwed!" howled Teddy, his big dark eyes turning a warm brown as his hair turned red. "Fwed!"

Fred shot out of his seat, jogging over to the other side of the room to fetch the two-year-old. "Feeling neglected, mate?"

Teddy's response was to lift his arms and say, "Up!"

"Manners, cub!" snapped Fred, hands on his hips. "What's the magic word?"

Teddy scowled. "Piss!"

"Eh, close enough." Fred scooped up Teddy and loped back to the table, setting the boy on his lap.

George and Ginny immediately pivoted in their seats to coo and play with the toddler while Molly _tsk_-ed, her hand on her cheek as she watched adoringly.

"You're so good with children, dear, why can't you settle down already?" she asked...no one and everyone. Maybe Fred, maybe George, could be Charlie, probably Ginny, more than likely Percy and Audrey, but it hardly mattered. It was more of a general question to anyone at the table who didn't already have a child. Which was everybody.

"Ugh, _Mum_, you can't force that kind of thing," said George dramatically, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You can't…what was it, Teddy? Do you think Aunt Hermione remembers?"

"Oh, no." Hermione dropped her head into her hand, and Harry stifled his laughter.

George grinned. "You can't…_hurry love_?"

"No," agreed Ginny solemnly, eyes twinkling. "You'll just have to wait."

"She said love don't come easy," said Fred, nodding sagely. "It's a game of give and take."

Teddy shrieked and bounced in excitement.

"_You can't hurry love_," sang George, Fred, and Ginny, in practiced harmony. Teddy bounced along with the song. "_No, you'll just have to wait. Just trust in the good time, no matter how long it takes. So how many heartaches must I stand before I find a love to let me live again? Right now, the only thing that keeps me hanging on when I feel my strength, ooh, it's almost gone. I remember Mama said—"_

All three broke off and turned to Hermione expectantly. She was, after all, the woman who first introduced the song on her Muggle radio and danced Teddy to it in the very living room next door. And who was she to deny her favorite little boy?

"_You can't hurry love. No, you'll just have to wait. She said love don't come easy. It's a game of give and take," _sang Hermione, snapping her fingers as Fred clapped Teddy's hands and joined in._ "How long must I wait? How much more must I take before loneliness will cause my heart, heart to break? Now I can't bear to live my life alone. I've grown impatient for a love to call my own. When I feel that I, I can't go on. Well, these precious words keep me hanging on. I remember Mama said…"_

Mrs. Weasley smiled, reaching for her husband's hand as the rest of the table joined in on Teddy's favorite song, snapping and pantomiming the lyrics.

"No rush, Mum," said Charlie softly, leaning over to peck his mother's cheek. "Let us all practice a bit so we can get it right when it matters, eh?"

Mrs. Weasley only sighed happily, placated for the time being, watching her family sing that catchy Muggle song. The grandbabies would come soon; she was sure of it.

* * *

It was a cool, sunny September afternoon, two days after Weasley Sunday lunch, when Percy and Hermione walked out into Diagon Alley, heading toward the Leaky Cauldron. They were to meet a couple of friends in a nearby Muggle café for coffee and a bit of a chat—_away _from prying magical eyes and ears. One pair of eyes and ears, however, could not be shaken off.

"Fred, _honestly_, I'll see you at dinner, you don't need to come with us," insisted Hermione, scowling a bit as Fred held her tighter to his side.

"Right now, your separation anxiety rivals Ron's when he was two," said Percy, wincing as Fred threw his arm over his shoulder and tugged him to his other side.

Fred, happy to be sandwiched between his brother and his Hermione (because that's what they were to each other—_each other's_), only tugged them closer so they could hear his low tone.

"It's not a matter of separation anxiety, darlings," he said. "It's a matter of me not wanting to be in the same vicinity as my lovestruck, hormonal twin and his girlfriend, who unfortunately happens to be our new employee."

"That's not a good enough excuse to bring you along," said Percy.

Fred eyed him pointedly, squeezing just a bit tighter. "Just like how cauliflower isn't a good enough excuse to elope for Mum."

Hermione hid her smile by ducking her head and pretending to adjust the hem of her blouse. Percy huffed, and she could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Very well," he said as pompously as ever, shrugging off Fred's arm and leading them into the pub.

"I reckon this little meeting isn't as confidential as you made it out to be if I can so easily crash it," said Fred, relaxing his hold on Hermione but still not letting go.

"It's confidential if you're not in the Order of the Phoenix," muttered Hermione softly, so only Fred could hear.

Fred straightened up slightly, expression taking a serious shift. "Is _that_ why you and Poncy were shooting each other furtive looks at lunch?"

Hermione frowned at his tone. "You noticed?"

"My skin crawls when your attention isn't focused on me."

"You're ridiculous, Fred."

"You live for my ridiculousness."

"As a matter of fact, a part of me _dies_ every time it comes up."

"I know what else can come up that would guarantee _la petit mort_."

Hermione stopped in the middle of the street to just _look_ at Fred, her blank expression telling him _so _much. He only laughed. He wisely let the subject drop for the time being. He released Hermione's shoulder to take her hand and slide his fingers between hers.

The way his big, warm hands wrapped around hers had Hermione focusing on the way her feet moved one in front of the other to let her hair curtain the fierce blush that made her light outfit feel like a parka and thermals in the middle of July. Fred squeezed her hand, and when she looked up, he winked with a sweet smile. He didn't let go of her hand until they reached the Muggle café, where two familiar faces were already waiting for them. Kingsley and Ron greeted the trio before settling down and calling over a waitress.

The Minister of Magic ordered a frappe and seemed to enjoy it. The Assistant to the Minister took a tentative drink of his latte and promptly and discreetly spat it back into the cup. The Auror took a happy sip of his mocha. The Unspeakable wrapped her hands around a mug of lemon-ginger tea and took a deep breath. The other half of the most successful pair of entrepreneurs during and after the war took a long draw from his chocolate and vanilla milkshake and then grimaced at the resulting brain freeze.

"This isn't natural," said Kingsley once Hermione put up a strong _Muffliato_ around their table.

"Do you think it's a spell?" asked Percy, pushing his glasses up his nose and nudging the latte away.

"If it is, it's a _kind_ one," said Hermione. "So far, the people who seem to be affected have found legitimate, compatible matches. It's not just a flimsy attraction."

"Weird and random as they may be, I'd say these could really last," agreed Percy.

Ron eyed him suspiciously. "You would hope so—you just got married and all."

"I don't fall within the parameters of this discussion," said Percy, sitting up straighter in the cushioned wicker chair. "I've been seeing Audrey since before the Battle of Hogwarts. This…_phenomenon_ has only been going for the last six months."

"But _what_ has caused this alleged phenomenon?" asked Kingsley. "As pleased as I am that the people are finding love, the amount who've found it is _staggering_. I've seen the numbers—marriages are at a record high. Let's not mention the amount of people I see snogging, snuggling, and giggling up and down the streets of Diagon Alley. It's like bloody Valentine's Day every day."

"Should we be looking a gift dragon in the mouth?" asked Ron.

Fred smirked behind his milkshake. "Asks one of the first to be affected in the group."

Ron reared back, affronted. "Excuse you! I _always_ thought Luna was beautiful!"

"You always thought she was _pretty_ and _pretty damn weird_," countered Fred.

Hermione snorted. "It wasn't until three months ago that you began to express an interest."

"About the same time you practically gave us a lesson about umbigular slashkillers," added Fred.

"Um_gub_ular slash_kilters_," corrected Ron, ears pink. "And that's beside the point. If you're going to call _my_ relationship into question, I'm redirecting the _Lumos_ on you two." He motioned to Fred and Hermione with a petulant scowl and a raised eyebrow.

The two barely glanced at each other.

"Nothing to question," said Fred simply.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "And if there was, the answer would be irrefutable."

Absolutely baffled at their answers—implied or explicit, Ron could only blink and gape. Unable to pursue the direction, Ron shook his head. "_Anyway_, I don't _feel_ spelled, and as random as you all think my feelings are, I distinctly remember when I thought of Luna as more than a friend. It wasn't anything like that incident with Amortentia in sixth year, where I was thinking of chocolate, and suddenly the image of a bon-bon in my head morphed into Romilda Vane's face."

Hermione cringed, and Fred grimaced.

"This couldn't be the work of any lingering followers of You-Know-Who, right?" asked Percy. "In order to…_repopulate_ the Wizarding community after the war?"

"No, it couldn't be," said Hermione. "Muggleborns and half-bloods are pairing up with purebloods—take Dean Thomas and Daphne Greengrass."

"Seamus Finnegan and Pansy Parkinson," added Ron, shaking his head in disbelief. "Still can't believe the world hasn't imploded."

"It's practically sacrilege in Voldemort's eyes," said Hermione. "I doubt they'd have any hand in this."

"Still can't discount Dark wizard involvement," said Kingsley. "They might not be as discriminatory as Voldemort. They could temporarily suspend their dogma for the sake of repopulation. Voldemort sympathizers could procreate and rear the next generation in the beliefs of the Dark Lord."

"But they'd be half-bloods," said Hermione. "That's counterintuitive."

"And counter-productive," added Fred.

"They might not be You-Know-Who sympathizers," said Ron, contemplatively rubbing the scruff on his jaw. "They could be Dark wizards with their own agendas. There's no denying that there's got to be some sort of magic afoot, but whether it's Light or Dark remains to be seen."

Hermione sighed, leaned back in her chair, and took a sip of her tea. "I'm dubious about anything that tampers with people's free will—_no_, Ron, I know you fell in love with Luna. I don't doubt that. I don't doubt the sincerity between all the matches that we've seen and probably have yet to see. But the fact that it's _genuine affection at all_ is what worries me. Any sort of magic that affects people on such a deep level is not to be trifled with."

"Should we end it then?" asked Fred, leaning forward and steepling his fingers seriously. The position would've been more imposing if he wasn't resting the straw to his milkshake on his lips. "Find out what started this and _stop it_?"

"_That_," said Kingsley, "is the second-important question to be asked. Look, the statistics have showed a severe decrease in population. We lost _so many_ during the war, and the subsequent year saw us chasing down Voldemort sympathizers. People weren't ready to start a family if they were too afraid of some other Dark Wizard coming."

"What are you implying?" asked Ron, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm _saying_ that we were extremely worried about the Wizarding community of Great Britain dying out," said Kingsley. "Short of seducing people from foreign magical communities to emigrate and strengthen the bloodlines, members of the Wizengamot began to throw out ideas of a Marriage Law."

"What?!" cried Ron, nearly knocking over his precious drink.

"Because forcing people to get married is definitely a great atmosphere to raise children," said Fred blandly.

"It would've been supplemented by spells to find the people's most compatible matches based on personal preferences, genetic suitability, and demographic details," said Percy. "For all intents and purposes, it was a program for people to find their soul mates."

"No, Percy," said Hermione, "it was a _breeding program_. I heard rumor of a spawn deadline."

"Excuse me a what now?" asked Fred, voice rising in octave.

"A spawn deadline," repeated Hermione. "It's an allotted period in which you would be required to produce a child."

"Who's on the Wizengamot again? Ronald, your list of Dark wizards grows," said Fred darkly. "I should send them care packages."

And by "care packages" he probably meant boxes of cruel and vindictive pranks best suited for revenge. Hermione only had to set her hand on Fred's for his shoulders to relax exponentially.

"It only went as far as a verbalized idea," assured Kingsley, though he didn't look any less displeased. "Many had grown desperate in the face of the data. We asked the Department of Mysteries in the Love Offices to look into spells that would aid in finding true love or the closest to it. We understood the moral problem of trying to force people together for the sake of reproduction, but I don't think you truly understand how dire the situation was. Birth rates were low even before the war—interbreeding amongst the purebloods, discrimination and prejudices that pushed Muggleborns back into Muggle society and away from the Wizarding community…"

Grimacing, Percy shrugged. "The government was trying to play matchmaker."

Fred sneered. "Yes, matchmakers to _brood mares_ because that's what the populace basically was, isn't it?"

Ron sighed and ran his hands down his face. "Glad to see the Ministry is consistent—even if it's at coming up with shite ideas."

"You can imagine the mixture of relief and worry I have about this whole _love-is-in-the-air_ business," said Kingsley. "Birth rates, marriage rates, bloody _rates of happiness_—I want to let it go and call it a blessing, but if this is someone's handiwork, we must found out who's behind it and _why_."

"What's the plan then?" asked Ron.

"You and Percy go about your business," said Kingsley. "Percy, you'll be my ears throughout the Ministry. If you hear any word of a mass love spell or some such, report it to me. Same with you, Ron. If you or any of the Aurors deal with anything related to this, alert me. We're keeping this strictly within the order."

"I've already been doing research on anything that could compel a person to find their soul mate or some variation," said Hermione, sighing wearily. "It mirrors what we were trying to do for that Marriage Law foolishness, but…well, I'll try to figure something out."

Kingsley nodded. His eyes shifted onto Fred and he frowned slightly, puzzled. "Fred, why are you here?"

Fred shrugged. "Moral support."

Kingsley hid a smile. "Well, you can morally and physically support Hermione in the research process—if that means reading and carrying books and being her guinea pig, so be it."

"I've been her bitch for years, I don't see any problem with this arrangement."

"Fred!"

Ron sighed. "I'm going to need another drink." He stood and picked up Kingsley's cup too. "You're gonna need another one of these too. Trust me."


	2. Chapter 2

**I should be researching my thesis.**

**I mean, I guess that since my thesis is on fandoms, technically, writing fanfiction is still somewhat pertinent to the cause.**

**Y'all can't dispute that.**

* * *

**2**

* * *

Hermione closed the book with a soft _thud_ and dropped her head onto the table with a loud _thunk_. It'd been three days since the meeting in the Muggle café, and she'd lost track of how long she'd been cooped up in the library of Grimmauld Place. She'd compiled as much information about love spells, love charms, and love potions as she could, but so far, she hadn't come up with any theory sufficient to explain what she now deemed the "Matchmaker Phenomenon."

She'd been part of the team assigned to make the potential Marriage Law more palatable, so she already had the pertinent information. However, the pertinent information still left her with the same problem she'd had when the Marriage Law was still anywhere _near_ the table.

Thinking that perhaps time and distance from the issue would give her a fresh perspective for something new to crop up, she assembled new and old research in Number Twelve's library. "Assembled," however, was being used loosely in that context. Books that weren't open on every available surface were stacked on the floor, hip-high, and standard rolls of parchment were mixed with Muggle notebook paper. Scattered throughout the books and sheaves of paper were fine strands of curly, brown hair—the primary indicator that Hermione was truly reaching a point of manic obsession. Her frustration showed in the way she'd been constantly combing her fingers through her hair, and her stress showed in the way she pulled her hands away with one or two strands tangled between her fingers. It wasn't even that the situation was extremely dire and she was desperate to solve it for the sake of both man and wizard-kind. It was because she was so painfully at a loss for an explanation.

She was pitifully yanking out a stray hair from between the pages of a nearby book, her cheek resting on the cool wood of the table, when someone knocked on the door.

"No, Ginny!" she called, knowing exactly who it was and exactly why she was being disturbed despite her explicit instruction otherwise.

"See, that's usually what I'd say when I catch my baby sister and Potter in a compromising position," said Fred, somehow managing to undo the wards on the door. She stopped questioning it a year ago. Fred had a knack for always managing to take down her wards. There had to be a metaphor for their relationship in there, but that was beside the point. "Didn't you hear me yowling at them earlier? Caused me actual, physical pain, Herms! I'm bloody scarred for life—only I've got a boy with a lightning scar's arse imprinted across my corneas instead of an _actual_ lightning scar across my forehead."

Fred hip-bumped the door open so hard it rebounded off the wall and nearly upset the two dinner plates he carried in his hands. He winked at Hermione, who lifted her head and rolled her eyes, as he skirted his way around the minefield of books.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to threaten your sister's boyfriend when he's bloody _immortal_?" Fred continued to rant as he sauntered up to her, dropped a kiss on top of her head, set one of the plates in front of her, and presented her with the silverware he'd shoved into his back pocket. "I mean, he looked sufficiently terrified when I told him to stuff his knob back in his trousers before I cursed that wood to be _real_ and make them feel how awkward it is when someone walks in to see a pair trying to prematurely branch out the family tree—"

Hermione choked on the first spoonful of corn. "Fred!"

"Sorry, love. So he looked scared and all, but really, there's not much I can threaten him with," he continued, unperturbed as he set his plate down next to her and pulled up a stool so they were practically hip-to-hip. "I could pelt him with _Avada_ after _Avada_, but he'd probably come out of it with another equally badass scar like the outline of a dragon on his right arse-cheek or something."

She snorted into her potatoes, and Fred grinned at her, brown eyes warm and happy.

"Before we met him, George and I speculated what would happen if we _Avada_-ed each _really_ wanted cool scars on our arses."

Thankfully, Hermione hadn't put anything in her mouth when he'd said that. "That's horrible!"

"No, you know what's horrible?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "The fact that you've been working in here since the crack of dawn, and do you know what time it is?"

Hermione glanced at the clock and realized…there _was_ no clock. "Er, no."

"Half-past obsessed," he deadpanned. "If you'd bothered to open the curtains, you'd see it's night. Have you eaten at all?"

Hermione forked up a piece of the roast chicken. "Yes," she mumbled. "I brought up some toast for lunch."

"You mean that flat, square-shaped, brown _paperweight_ on the other side of the table whose corner crust has been nibbled off? That's lunch for a _gnat_, not a human being."

Hermione sighed and swallowed the food in her mouth. "I've been a bit preoccupied."

Fred looked around at the mountain range of books. "Hadn't noticed." He nudged her plate, a gesture to keep eating. "Listen, Hermy, darling—"

"Don't call me that."

"'Mione, dear."

"I'd really rather you say my entire name rather than half of it at a time."

"'Mione-Herm, my love."

"_Honestly."_ Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't hide a small smile that had Fred's grin growing wider.

"So how goes the research process, darling?" he asked. "Not developing a hidden agenda to utilize one of these spells to seduce me, are you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling. "I'm not trying to seduce you."

"Good," said Fred, twirling his fork between his fingers as he fixed her with a pointed look, "because that'd be wasted efforts. All you'd have to do is breathe."

Blushing furiously, Hermione focused on her green beans.

It'd been like this for a while now. Could it be because of the Matchmaker Phenomenon? Perhaps. But if she was truthful with herself, this had started not too long after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Fred came out of his explosion-induced coma with a new lease on life. He became increasingly affectionate with her, and she slowly stopped shaking him off. Hermione had long-since stopped denying the fact that every time he touched her, her heart raced fasted than the beat of a snitch's wings.

Her relationship with Ron had thankfully petered out, back into the friendship it'd been for so many years. They'd both amicably parted without any lingering romantic inclinations toward each other. Ron had eventually and enthusiastically skipped into Luna's embrace, and Fred's arms seemed to trap her often enough for it to be common occurrence at this point. The rest of the Weasleys no longer questioned it; Ron had been the first one to explicitly bring it up at the café.

That didn't stop her from wondering how much of Fred's initial affections remained now in the presence of this unknown magic. That didn't stop her from worrying whether or not her own feelings were in reaction to his own, fostered by the unknown magic from pre-existence fondness, or _genuine, organic_ romantic inclinations.

"You just went quiet. I don't like quiet." He froze. "Oh, Godric. You said you weren't seducing me, but you never said anything about seducing someone else. Are you trying to get George to join our fun? It's kind of you to include my twin and all, but I think that's a cup of tea he and I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole."

She choked on the green bean she'd just shoved in her mouth and spluttered, "Fred!"

He laughed and tugged one of her curls, grinning. He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and motioned for her to eat. They sat in companionable silence, occasionally and playfully bumping each other with elbows and sly smiles.

"So what've you been looking at all day?" asked Fred once they'd cleared through half their plates.

Hermione swallowed her mouthful and pulled one of the loose parchment closer. "Well, the Biological Compatibility Charm employs the caster's own hormones to attract the person who reacts most viscerally to them. The Ensynastic Spell puts the caster and the target in the same emotional state of mind to form a stronger emotional bond to facilitate a relationship. Lastly, Amortentia induces a potent infatuation, though it _could_ have roots in genuine affection when directed at the right person—evidenced by the varying scents a person finds upon inhalation. The charm is physical, the spell emotional, and the potion preferential."

"But?"

"But none of these and none of the lesser love charms were _anywhere_ close to fitting the criteria of this Matchmaker Phenomenon." Hermione motioned to the mountain range of books around her. "No spell is subtle enough, no potion that could affect at a spiritual level. Even when combining all three, with even a few extra spells thrown in the mix to fill in the gaps, could the effects mirror what seems to be _naturally _occurring."

Fred frowned. "So everyone just seems to be…falling in love…naturally…at the same time."

Hermione shrugged helplessly and forked up a potato. "If it weren't for the fact that it's all happening within this relatively short space of time, I would say that people have managed to completely re-evaluate their lives, pull their heads out of their arses, and find real, genuine love. No magical tampering."

Fred tapped his lip with his fork, frowning into the distance. "And you said you combined love spells with other non-love spells?"

"Yes, to either dampen some of the effects to make it more natural or to emphasize other aspects to ensure a perfect match," answered Hermione disappointedly. "The theory makes sense, but—"

"—but the reality is more disappointing than Ron's inability to talk to beautiful women," finished Fred, nodding.

Hermione blinked. "Not quite the phrasing I'd use, but sure."

"Have you considered that it could be an original spell?" asked Fred, looking rightly concerned.

Hermione nodded and swallowed another mouthful of food before replying, "I did, but the major issue with my research so far is that everything I've put on the table is fundamentally magical. Everything simply sets up the circumstances for love, not love itself the way we're seeing or feeling it."

Fred's frown cleared, and he nodded understandingly. "Yeah, yeah. You're talking about the fundamental laws of magic—can't bring people back from the dead and can't make anyone fall in love with anyone else."

"Exactly," sighed Hermione, scraping up the last of her food. "Either we're going to have to chalk it up to genuinely _natural_ phenomenon or concede that everyone who's fallen in love, gotten engaged, and gotten married recently are under a spell, falsifying the effects of what they think is true love."

Fred tapped his fork on his now-empty plate, studying her quietly. "Hermione."

She didn't look up. "Hm?"

"You're doubting this, aren't you?" he asked softly, putting his utensils down and turning around in his seat so his legs were on either side of her. He motioned between the two of them with a finger. "This little dance we've been doing?"

Hermione put her fork down and scratched her eyebrow, turning to face him, though not quite as head-on as he'd positioned himself. "Fred—"

"I can see it in your eyes, love. You're a shit actress and you're a shit liar too. So let me assure you now that _this_ has been going on for years, and if there's been any love spell interference lately, it's only served to amplify what's been there all along, all right? So don't you dare start getting nervous about the legitimacy of what's going on between us."

Hermione couldn't hold it back any more—the incandescently happy grin stretched across her face, and whatever bone-weary tiredness that had begun to fade when Fred walked in disappeared completely. He grinned back and laced his fingers with hers, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles.

"Have you talked to anyone else about this?" asked Fred. "Your Love Bug Phenomenon-thing."

"_Matchmaker_ Phenomenon," she corrected him. "And no, I haven't."

"'Love Bug' sounds better. Darling, have you even contemplated going to Hogwarts?" asked Fred, lips turning up.

Hermione frowned and eyed him warily. "No, why?"

Fred chuckled, shaking his head as he stood and picked up his and Hermione's empty plates. "Come on, Nee-Nee, love. Go to bed. We're going to Hogwarts tomorrow, and I'm going to show you exactly how to utilize the world's best untapped resource."

* * *

The double doors of Hogwarts's main entrance burst open, banging back against the wall behind it. A few of the students still lingering in the entrance hall yelped or jumped in surprise. Fred sauntered in, an imposing figure with his ruffled, fiery-red hair and emerald-green and purple-lined robes billowing magnificently. Hermione strode in behind him, rolling her eyes. Her reaction was a bit more affectionate than the Headmistress's. McGonagall grimaced and shook her head, causing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to chuckle where he stood behind her.

"Honestly, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall. "I was hoping you'd grown out of your highly dramatic tendencies."

"Honestly, McGoogles," said Fred, dropping a loud, smacking kiss on McGonagall's cheek. "I was hoping you'd realize that I'm _occupationally contracted_ to be dramatic. I own a joke shop, remember?"

"How could I forget?" asked McGonagall dryly, pursing her lips and shooting a look at a button-nosed boy about thirteen, who was staring up at Fred with something a bit beyond hero-worship in his eyes. "I'm unfortunately very familiar with your products."

The boy caught her look, but instead of looking abashed, he grinned good-naturedly, saluted Fred, and ambled off—his cheerful stride marred by a distinct limp.

Hermione's smile faded, and Fred tensed beside her.

Hogwarts had reopened a mere four months after the 2nd of May. It had been a long-debated and long-meditated decision, but ultimately the professors and the Order (and more than half the Ministry) agreed that the education of the young witches and wizards were tantamount to rebuilding the Wizarding community. It was with great vigor and determination that the Hogwarts professors and members of the Order vetted volunteers to help the reconstruction effort to get as much of the school back up and running in time for September 1998.

However, what was a school without its students?

Those who hadn't perished in the battle had either left the Wizarding world entirely or were being deterred from returning by their fearful parents or had decided of their own accord. Those who _had_ mustered the courage to return were visibly scarred—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The magical skills they'd fostered in that one year had nearly ruined the children—from the first years to the seventh years.

Because sometimes simply turning on a small light in the suffocating darkness just isn't enough.

The professors struggled in their plans to help the returning students in any way they could. Educationally, to keep them abreast of the Ministry standards so they didn't have to stay longer than the allotted seven years. Mentally and emotionally, to teach and aid them in coping with the trials and terrors they suffered under the hands of the Carrows and Snape's blind eye. Magically, because a person is not the sum of all his parts—a person is a whole being, intricate and interwoven, and if they can perform a Cruciatus Curse more adeptly than _Riddikulus_ because wishing and willing excruciating pain on someone is easier than mustering a happy thought at which to laugh, then McGonagall, Flitwick, Trelawney, Slughorn, Vector, Sprout, Hagrid, and even Madam Pince all had their work cut out for them.

The result was that an eighth year was deemed necessary, and should a following ninth year be called for, so be it—for the sake of the students, for the sake of the children.

The clincher in getting students to return was the addition of various war heroes. Neville Longbottom was brought on as a teaching assistant and apprentice to Professor Sprout, Luna Lovegood as an intern for Hagrid, Oliver Wood as Flying Instructor and Quidditch Referee, and Harry Potter as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. For who could better conquer the jinxed position than the Boy-Who-Continued-to-Live?

The last two years had shown the extent of the damage inflicted on the castle and its occupants, and total recuperation was a long ways off. But it was coming—coming in the laughter that chimed down the hall, in the sunlight that glimmered in through the tall windows and bounced off the gleaming floors, in the mischief shining in a good-natured smile of a button-nosed boy with a limp.

Fred turned to McGonagall and Harry, eyes gleaming. "A worthy successor?"

McGonagall glared at him sternly, but her heart wasn't in the expression at all.

Harry smirked. "Not yet," he said. "A bit uninspired, actually. But he's a third year. He's got time."

The two grinned almost conspiratorially.

And then Fred's grin darkened as he eyed Harry pointedly. "All right there, Potter?"

Harry scowled, but its effects were diminished by his deep, dark blush. "It was a _free weekend_ for me and Ginny, Fred. It's also _my house_."

"Totally understandable, mate," said Fred, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders and nodding sympathetically. "The point I tried to hammer the other night, however, is that you keep _your_ point and _your_ hammering _behind closed doors_, you know?" What should've been a friendly gesture smoothly shifted into a variant of a chokehold as Harry blushed even darker, grimaced, and tried to pry Fred's arm loose.

"So what _exactly _is your plan here, Mr. Weasley?" asked McGonagall, pinching Fred's ear so he released her Defense professor. Several nearby students laughed as they passed by.

Fred smirked, patting Harry's back as the younger man gasped, wheezed, and rasped his way into Hermione's slightly more sympathetic arms. "I've got to teach Mi-Mi here how to really pull information out of a school."

"Fred, for Merlin's sake, my name is—"

"We've already made our introductions years ago, Mya, you don't need to reintroduce me," said Fred, tugging one of Hermione's curls.

"Apparently I _do_ considering you can't seem to get my name right these days," huffed Hermione.

"Mr. Weasley, I need a bit more information than that before I let you and Miss Granger go gallivanting up and down this castle," said McGonagall.

"Don't worry, Minnie," said Fred, tugging Hermione away from Harry and inching them down the hall, away from the Headmistress. "We're just going to chat with a few portraits and exchange pleasantries with a couple ghosts. Then we'll be out of your hair—which look gloriously silvery today, Minervy-darling."

Fred then picked up the pace, dragging Hermione down the hall behind him and leaving McGonagall and Harry staring after the pair, hand-in-hand as they parted the sea of awed students. Fred continued to pitch nicknames that Hermione vehemently shot down.

"Mee-own?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"If I have, it's because you've driven me crazy, Hermio."

McGonagall sighed and folded her hands in front of her, one eyebrow raised. "How much did Professor Longbottom put down for their inevitable engagement?"

Harry slid his own hands into the pockets of his robes. "Forty Galleons on New Year's, and I put fifty on Christmas."

"Shacklebolt?"

"Forty on Valentine's."

The Headmistress snorted. "Fifty on Christmas. An extra twenty-five that he'll trap her under enchanted mistletoe that won't release them until she accepts his ring."

Meanwhile, down a few corridors, Hermione watched as Fred skipped down the hallways, occasionally bending down over plants and peering behind suits of armor, all the while greeting students and portraits they passed.

"Fred, what _are_ you doing?"

He bent down close to the foot of one of suits of armor, looking for all the world like he was adjusting its boot. "I'm setting up pranks," he answered plainly.

Hermione spluttered in shock, jerking around for anyone who may have overheard. "Fred!"

"What?" he asked innocently, straightening up with a benevolent smile. "Just trying to add a little more laughter to this school, Herm. Can't fault me for that can you?"

"Don't call me that," she said, trailing after him as he set off down the corridor again. "And have you stopped to consider your pranks are occasionally a bit more shocking and incendiary than is healthy for this environment?"

"Hello, Madam Horntuffle. How are you this morning?" Fred called to a nearby painting as he flipped up the visor of another suit of armor, reaching inside for a few seconds and making the armor bristle uncomfortably. "And of course I've considered that, Hermie. I'm not _completely_ dense. These are simple entertainment charms I've planted—new products that are to come out just in time for the winter hols. Call this whole thing a preview, I suppose."

"Don't call me 'Hermie' either. Entertainment charms?"

"Aye." Fred winked. "These upstanding knights will be breaking out into song or dance—or both—at random times of the day. We'll program them with more holiday-themed songs once the season comes, but for now we kept things neutral. I made sure the songs aren't too raucous or the dancing too erratic—just some smooth and serene tunes with a few lively and catchy ones. A few of these gentlemen will be waltzing or tango-ing with each other while others are going to be breaking out into a lively jig to the Back-Road Blokes."

"Backstreet Boys, Fred."

Fred cast his eyes heavenward, shaking his head. "Ridiculous names."

Hermione smiled reluctantly as Fred tapped her nose playfully and skipped down the hall again. "Muggle songs?" she asked after him.

"Of course, Ermie. We must educate the next generation in good music after all."

"Fred, don't call me that!"

He sighed and stopped, waiting for her to catch up as he pouted at her balefully. "My list of permutations for your name is dwindling, love. You're going to have to make a decision soon."

"Well, if you want my decision, you're going to have to be more creative," answered Hermione, cocking an eyebrow and putting a hand on her hip.

Fred mirrored her stance, smirking. "How about 'Weasley' then? Sounds better than anything else I've come up with so far."

The butterflies that'd taken off in Hermione's stomach bottlenecked in her throat, but she managed to hold it together. "Bit premature, don't you think?" she countered without a single wobble in her voice. "You haven't even asked me out on a date."

Fred grinned, reaching out to take her hand and set his other on her waist. A few of the nearby paintings and students tittered at the two war heroes, looking for all the world like they were about to start dancing.

"If you want to get technical, we've been on about twenty dates within the last month," said Fred.

Hermione stifled her smile and shook her head. "It's not a date until you ask me out on a date and make it official."

His breath ghosted across her face as he leaned in. "One day, love, we _will_ make things official, and you'll have a ring on your finger and a different name following your first." He paused and then shrugged. "Or a different one following mine. Whichever we decide."

Hermione swallowed loudly, her breath stopping of its own accord when he brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

"Until then," he whispered across her lips, "will you go on a date with me, _Hermione_?"

Her breath came out in a soft, embarrassing giggle. Fred grinned and bumped her nose again. Not wanting to risk another giggle, Hermione nodded. She was a bloody disgrace.

Fred's grin only widened, his eyes crinkling mirthfully. "Shall we keep it simple then? Three Broomsticks? Tonight? After we conclude our research and following harassment of Harry as a goodbye?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled. She cleared her throat and nodded.

"Good," he said happily. Then he shocked the both of them a second later when he dropped a chaste kiss on her lips that she felt even from the tips of her hair and released everything but her hand. "Fantastic! Now let's go! We've got paintings to harass and ghosts to hassle!"

Effectively stupefied, Hermione let herself be tugged along by Fred, who seemed to develop an extra spring in his step and a brighter grin.

"So, Miss Granger, what do paintings do best?" asked Fred as they walked down the hallways. He nodded and winked at paintings as he passed, occasionally greeting ones whose names he knew.

"Erm, gossip?" she answered unsurely, still a bit dazed and confused, her brain floating some two feet above her neck. That didn't stop her from noticing the way the portraits immediately began to break out in conspiratorial whispers and running through the frames to spread the news.

"Precisely," said Fred, linking his arm with hers and expertly lobbing something into the nearby potted plant. "Afternoon, Father Olivier! Portraits_ talk_. Incessantly. You think the only place to glean information is in class or in the library, but you should've learned from the Marauder's Map, love—_there's always another way_." He pelted something straight into another potted plant to punctuate his statement.

"And so we're fishing for information from _portraits_ and _ghosts_? Fred, they're hardly reliable—you remember Violet and the Fat Lady," said Hermione. "They were the biggest gossips in the school—like Parvati and Lavender multiplied by a hundred."

"So it boils down to having reliable sources," said Fred. "Trust me, love."

Hermione took his hand—which she noted he was more than eager to comply and squeeze back, since she'd been the one to initiate it this time. "It's not a matter of me _trusting you_—I do. It's just…I'm _confused. _What could portraits know better than texts found in the bloody Department of Mysteries?"

Fred kissed the corner of her lips, and she was disappointed that he either missed or was aiming for off-center. Though for their endeavor's sake, she supposed it was better that he didn't muddle her brain with kisses again. "Your unwavering trust in books is admirable, Hermione, _really_. What do portraits know better than books?" He leaned into her side, nose grazing her ear as his face nuzzled into her hair. _"Secrets."_

And then he shot off down the hallway again, dragging her along.

"Hello, Sir Nick!" hollered Fred.

Nearly Headless Nick froze just as he was about to turn a corner, backing up slightly. When he saw who'd called, his eyes widened comically, and he sped up—gliding around the corner as fast as he could, his head teetering dangerously in his haste.

"Oi! Sir Nick! How could you?!" screeched Fred. He took off, leaving Hermione rolling her eyes as she listened to the students laughing at them. "Sir Nicholas De Majorly Pompous-ton! How dare you?! After all we've been through together?!"

"Well, well, are we hosting a reunion today?"

Hermione turned, looking for the source of a voice. It was too deep and old to belong to any student, so she scanned the walls. An old gentleman with a severe middle-part in his snowy white hair and in his elaborate moustache sat in a high-backed armchair in front of a fireplace, dressed in a smoking jacket with a monocle beckoned to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, is it? The Brightest Witch of the Age?" he asked, smiling at her serenely.

Hermione nodded respectfully. "Yes, sir."

"What brings you back to your alma mater?" he asked. "Though, I suppose I shouldn't call it your alma mater considering you didn't return for your final year. You have that in common with your beau—though, shockingly enough, he had more schooling than you, didn't he?"

Hermione blushed. Fred_ had_ at least suffered through a few months' worth of his seventh year. She'd been on the run and had opted not to return for the optional eighth year McGonagall offered the former seventh year students. She'd taken her N.E.W.T.'s at the Ministry instead.

"He did, but I doubt I would've learned any more than he did in that last year," she said pointedly.

"Calm yourself, young lady. Offense was not intended," he said, returning the monocle to his breast pocket and smirking slightly. "Though you may take some offense to what I am most compelled to ask."

Well, that didn't bode well. "What is it, sir?"

He folded his hands on his open book. "What _are_ you doing with Mr. Weasley as your beau?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. She couldn't remember Hogwarts paintings being that…nosey. Goodness. "What—I mean. Wh—" She cleared her throat and licked her lips. "Why should my relationship with Fred garner disapproval?"

"Considering the last time I saw you two together within a five-foot vicinity, you were scolding him for getting himself sent to detention while he was smirking at you and fingering one of his Conniving Cookboxes behind his back."

"Skiving Snackboxes," she corrected him. "And people change over the years, sir."

He smirked. "I doubt it's change and more like a shift in perspective, don't you think?"

Hermione blushed. "Well—"

"Unless it's les of a perspective-or-change issue and more like a taste of what's been going around these past few months?"

Hermione froze, frowning.

The gentleman's smirk widened as he eyed her knowingly. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of the exponential increase in couples recently, Miss Granger. I may be stuck on this wall, but the outside news doesn't escape my ears."

The gears in Hermione's head began to spin furiously. "What do you mean 'what's been going around?' I just thought it was…post-war high spirits and lingering effects of wartime last-ditch proclamations of love."

"Don't be so unfeeling now, young lady," chided the gentleman. "There's _magic_ in the air."

_And with all this romantic atmosphere, disaster's in the air._

She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Really, though. The song was just so applicable; she couldn't help herself. At least she hadn't sung it out loud.

"You may laugh, Miss Granger, but it's true. This isn't wartime or post-war effects, you know," insisted the gentleman. "This is magic at its most natural level."

Hermione's smile began to fade as what he was saying really sunk in. He didn't mean it figuratively like Muggles did. He meant it _literally_.

"What could have caused it then?" asked Hermione. "It's been two years since the end of the war. Why is it happening now?"

The gentleman shrugged, pulling his monocle back out and smoothing the pages of his book. "Who could really say?"

She'd make a mistake. Oh, no. He was exhibiting the signs of someone finished with a conversation.

"But, sir—"

"Oh, come now, Miss Granger," said the gentleman as he lifted his book. "Are you or are you not the Brightest Witch of the Age?"

"Well, that's simply a title people gave me," she argued. "That's not my entire identity."

"_You_ earned the title, Miss Granger. Live up to it." He licked his finger and turned a page on his book. "You're at school. If you've got a question, ask a teacher."

"But, _sir_…"

He broke eye contact to focus on his book, his steel grey eyes focused intently on the words in front of him. He'd checked out of the conversation.

Well, at least Fred was right. Portraits certainly keep secrets. Even if he hadn't divulged all the information, however, at least now it was confirmed that this _wasn't_ natural.

"Hermione!"

Speak of the devil.

Hermione turned to see Fred jogging toward her with a devious grin. He glanced at the painting of the gentleman and waved. "Good morning, Professor Zuberlitt!"

The gentleman—Professor Zuberlitt—didn't look up from his book, merely waving his hand at Fred in a gesture that could be taken as either a "hello" or "shoo."

"Always a pleasure, Professor." Fred turned to her, eyes gleaming. "So I cornered Nicky, right?"

Hermione glowered at him for Sir Nicholas's sake. Honestly, that poor ghost suffered enough.

"Well, I harangued him into answering a few_ choice questions_, if you know what I mean, and he says the best source of information around here is Flitwick. If we want to know more about this whole 'Matchmaking Love Bug Phenomenon' of yours, he's the part-goblin to ask."

Professor Zuberlitt snorted derisively.

Fred snorted right back, glaring at the portrait. "Do _you_ know someone better then, Professor?"

"Yes, and it certainly isn't the bloody _Charms_ professor," grumbled Zuberlitt. "If you want to know about Levitating Charms or Cheering Charms, you ask Fli-twit. If you want to know about ancient magic, you ask the _History_ _of_ _Magic_ professor. Honestly, you two."

Fred slowly to Hermione with a grin that would have the devil himself bowing in admiration. "Like I said before—_always_ a pleasure, Professor Zuberlitt." Fred clasped her hand and dragged her off again, chortling to himself as they strode toward the History of Magic classroom.

"You _planned _that!" cried Hermione, impressed.

"Of course I did! I just hassled Sir Nick for a bit since I _knew_ Zuberlitt would be _dying _to chat with you, and I figured you'd figure things out and do your best to wheedle some information out of him. He's the old History of Magic Professor before Binns, so I hoped he'd tell you more. When he clammed up after you asked him too many direct questions, I decided to take a different approach."

"So Sir Nicholas never told you Professor Flitwick would be able to enlighten us?"

"No. I think I reduced the poor ghost to tears," answered Fred, looking a bit guilty. "He glided into a wall, but I heard some distinctive sniffling. All I did was tell him his brocaded jacket looked very blood-spattered. Anyway, Zuberlitt and Flitwick were _big_ rivals back in the day, apparently, so dropping old Filly's name was certain to get a rise out of Zuberlitt. I wasn't sure he'd tell us exactly who we could go to, but fortune's in our favor, eh?"

"I'll agree with that once we've gotten what we came here for," said Hermione, pulling him along until they finally reached the History of Magic classroom on the first floor.

Thankfully, class was already in session, which meant Binns _had_ to be present. No one was entirely sure where the ghost drifted off to when he didn't have class. She and Fred snuck inside and stood in the very back.

History of Magic had been and continued to be a free period and nap time for the students. At least five boys were dead asleep on their desks, drooling into their books and parchments. Two pairs of girls were passing notes—though it was more like blatantly chucking wads of paper at each other since discretion was wholly unnecessary at that point.

"And so the Goblin Wars of—"

"Excuse me, Professor?"

The students looked up at the sudden intrusion, balking at something _remotely_ interesting happening during class. Two war heroes—the famous Hermione Granger and Fred Weasley, no less—walking in was surely going to be the most excitement they'd get in that class for the next few years.

Fred nearly burst out laughing. "Woman, put your hand down. You're not in school anymore."

She glared at him, though she did lower her hand. "Fred, stop it. Professor Binns?"

Binns anemically looked up from his notes and regarded Hermione with a woeful sigh. "Yes, Grennins?"

Ignoring his mistake, Hermione pushed on. "Professor, I'd just like to know if you could tell us anything about…erm, _ancient magic_?"

The shift from mild catatonia to full lucidity was visible enough for the students to straighten up completely, staring back and forth between the professor and the visitors.

"Miss Grant, where _are _your school robes, and why on earth are you asking about ancient magic?" asked Binns, peering at the intruding pair curiously.

Hermione fidgeted with her hands until Fred took one and squeezed.

"Well, you see, Binnsy, we were wondering if it could, you know, make an entire community start falling in love with each other," said Fred simply.

The students broke out into surprised whispers.

"It's true!" called out one boy with unusually big ears. "My aunt and her stepbrother absolutely _hated_ each other's guts not three months ago, and now they won't stop snogging."

"Have you _seen_ the amount of couples in this school _alone_?" added a girl with bright red-rimmed glasses.

"I _knew_ it was unnatural," said the auburn-haired boy sitting at the nearest desk. He turned around to address Fred and Hermione, revealing his eye patch. "You think it's ancient magic that's doing all this? Getting Gryffindors and Slytherins to fall in love when they've spent the last few millennia hating each other's very _air_?"

"Aye," answered Fred seriously.

The boy snickered and grinned up at Fred. Hermione didn't know whether to cry, laugh, or hit Fred. So she just turned back to Binns.

"Sir?" she prompted him again before he could zone off. "Ancient magic?"

"Oh, yes, yes," sighed Binns. "Ancient magic is exactly that—_ancient_."

"Like you," muttered Fred, earning another laugh from the auburn-haired boy.

"It's the old magicks, the powers deep in the earth, the—"

"_Ancient magic?" _asked Hermione pointedly, hoping to hint for the old ghost to be a bit more concise.

"Yes, well, I'm not surprised you all have to ask about it. Back in my day, it was legend, and now it's completely phased out of the culture to where hardly anyone knows about it anymore." Binns dolefully shook his head. "Ancient magic, children, is what supposedly runs deep in the earth, bestowing magic upon the earliest witches and wizards and spawning all the magical creatures we know today."

"Must be powerful stuff then," said another boy, yawning.

"_Obviously,"_ drawled a girl with long, jet-black hair.

Fred's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned down to Hermione's ear to hiss, "They've got a bloody Snape-ette. Snivella?"

She actually whacked him on the chest this time. "So, do you think it's the ancient magic causing everyone to fall in love?"

"I suppose that's not too outrageous a thought considering population has been going down," said Binns. "Take it as magic's way of fixing a problem."

"What? It notices that there's not enough witches and wizards in the world, so it makes the community randy so as to repopulate?" asked a girl with an elaborate braid snaking around the crown of her head. "That's so..."

"Sexy?" offered the boy next to her. "Literally?"

"Don't be crass," said the girl disdainfully. "It's _barbaric_, is what it is."

"But it certainly would solve the problem, wouldn't it?" asked another boy, one with his hair gelled up and toward the middle in a Mohawk-type hairdo. "Better than…targeting Muggle orphanages and bombarding them with all-Muggleborns, I reckon."

"Why would that be a bad thing?" asked another girl on the other side of the classroom.

Fred snorted. "You think it's a good idea putting a bunch of children with accidental magical abilities all under one roof with clueless Muggles? That's a nightmare even for a witch or wizard."

In a moment that would go down in Hogwarts history, Professor Cuthbert Binns snorted in a moment of uncharacteristic _personality_. "I wholeheartedly support that statement."

* * *

**Feedback is always appreciated. And requested. And would bring genuine joy to my soul. **

**So.**

**You know.**

**Review. Even if it's only with your favorite line. Or comments. Or concerns. Or questions. Or criticisms about various plot holes that I've managed to completely miss. Because I know there must be many.**

**Also, the line, **_**"And with all this romantic atmosphere, disaster's in the air"**_** is taken from lyrics to "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" from **_**The Lion King**_**. Because why the hell not?**


	3. Chapter 3

**So. I didn't make my Tuesday-update schedule. I mean, technically, it's Tuesday, but it's like a Tuesday too late… Meh.**

**Also, I'm taking serious liberties concerning a to-be-revealed location—about its location, layout, purpose, etc. I have been to Dublin (for three days) and Edinburgh (for, like, 9 pathetic hours, three of which were spent in a combo meltdown with my friend), so my knowledge of Great Britain is limited to what I've learned from the Harry Potter series. Because let's be real, I learned next to nothing during my visit. Except that you're supposed to let Guinness beer sit for a few minutes before drinking it otherwise the bartender will sneer at you for being the noob American you are. That guy was a dick, though. Seriously. God forbid you tell us how to do it instead of laughing at us.**

**Also, when I say Great Britain, I want to talk about the whole island, but should I be calling it something else, not Great Britain? Am I doing any of this right?**

**If not, well, just…go with it.**

* * *

**3**

* * *

Hermione was not usually one for barging into people's offices without even sending a memo beforehand, but she was just in one of those moods that day. Time was not necessarily of the essence, but her cheerfulness was spurred by her excitement over discovering new information and a previously-unknown method of obtaining said new information.

She didn't exactly bang open the door and stomp in, but she may as well have for all Percy's reaction. He looked two parts surprised and one part irritated, his blue feather quill snapped in his tightly-clenched fist.

"Fred is rubbing off on you," he stated flatly.

"In all the wrong ways?" she finished for him knowingly, one eyebrow raised as she deposited herself in the chair in front of his desk.

"Even if it was in the right way, it'd be wrong," he groused, picking up his wand and repairing his quill.

Hermione laughed. He was prone to shield his comments back while they were in school, but now he didn't seem at all inclined to keep up the filter. As pompous as he was, Percy was just as much a brother to Fred, George, and Ginny Weasley and their sharp tongues.

Percy sighed and leaned back into his chair, folding his hands together on his desk. "How can I help you, Hermione?"

"Fred and I've figured it out," she answered, eyes bright. "It's _literally_ something in the water."

Percy blinked and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Repeat that, please?"

Hermione leaned forward, her hands on her knees. "We went to Hogwarts, where we found out that the most likely culprit for what's happening is ancient magic."

"That's lore."

"So were the Deathly Hallows."

"Touché."

"Fred mentioned it as an offhand comment—Muggle idiom—but it made sense," continued Hermione. "We'd asked Binns, and he kept stressing how ancient magic was _natural_ magic, so it would make sense that it would take root and spread through natural means. That didn't leave us a solid answer for how it was doing so, so Fred, er, had the somewhat creative idea to pretend to the be the ancient magic and theorize a way to infect the people."

Percy just watched her explain amusedly.

"It turns out that only the Wizarding community, not necessarily those with magical blood itself, was being affected—witches, wizards, and even _Squibs_. The Muggleborns' families were immune. Fred and I looked up statistics of Muggleborn families, but they don't show any boom in marriages or pregnancies in the same pattern as the Wizarding community. So we figured it couldn't be ancient magic working in the blood of the people."

Percy nodded along.

"It was because of the involvement of Squibs and the disregard of Muggleborn families that meant the key to the whole thing, though it was Fred's offhand comment that helped us find the key. Squibs, even though they are pristinely un-magical, are still present in the community, as a part of their magical families."

"_There must be something in the water,"_ muttered Percy, eyes narrowing. His eyes snapped wide and he smiled. "It's environmental."

Hermione grinned. "Exactly. It couldn't be in the air because it would've passed up into Scandinavia by now, and since the Swedes, Nords, and Finns haven't said much about love in the air, we can safely say it's not in the air. It couldn't be in the earth either since that just doesn't make sense. Transmission by water was the answer. That was why only the magical community was affected without Muggle relatives being in the mix. That's why it was localized on the island. That's why it'd come in gradually."

"So how are you planning on proving that?" asked Percy.

"That's where you come in," answered Hermione. "If it's affecting an entire island's magical community, it has to be generating a sizeable magical energy reading. All we'd have to do is locate it and go from there."

Percy smirked. "Go with the flow, perhaps?"

"And _I'm_ the one the others are rubbing off on too much?"

Percy shrugged coolly. "Where do I come into the picture?"

"You're the one with the locator potion," replied Hermione plainly.

Percy, unbeknownst to his family, had done his part to contribute to Order of the Phoenix efforts despite his position within the Ministry. He'd concocted a potion—bright and lime-green—that, when spread over a map or a globe, would zero in on areas that have large accumulations of magical energy to find Voldemort's various hideouts and caches.

He'd ensured and commanded the potion's secrecy since he was well on his way to becoming a conspiracy theorist in his own right. His unfailing trust in the Ministry had backfired magnificently and scarred him for life so only _he_ knew the ingredients and brewing instructions. If anyone wanted the potion, they'd have to ask Percy for it.

Merlin knows even if anyone tried to spy on him, they would see him assembling a randomized rotation of nine extra, unnecessary potion ingredients that he pretended to throw into the cauldron, which a simple sleight of hand would hide.

Percy nodded and began stacking the parchments on his desk. "Very well. Pull that mask from the wall and put it here."

Hermione stood and levitated the map of the island onto the desk while Percy reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial filled with the lime-green potion. He pulled off the cork and siphoned the viscous fluid out with his wand, spreading it in the air before slowly lowering it onto the map in an even layer.

The potion made the entire surface of the map glow, but the longer they waited, the light slowly began to recede into a smaller total area, as if pulling in on itself.

"So," said Percy, taking advantage of the wait. "You and Fred, eh?"

Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Her lip twitched at the expression on his face—a wry twist of his mouth that showed he was very much related to his good-natured family, albeit a bit less tolerant of certain brands of buffoonery.

She smiled, as both a response to his question and a reaction to his expression.

Percy grinned, blue eyes dancing. In that moment, Hermione wished she was more of a photographer.

They turned their attention back to the light, inching into smaller spaces until pinpricks of light dotted the island. Hermione could pick out Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, Hogsmeade, the Ministry, St. Mungo's, and Hogwarts, but a few were a bit less famous.

"Dartmoor," said Percy, pointing. "Pistyll Rhaeder. Tintagel. Newgrange." His finger moved over the a droplet the size of an accidental ink drop that glowed brighter than any of the other specks. "There."

"Glastonbury?" asked Hermione. "Glastonbury Tor?"

Percy nodded. "The Chalice Well."

"Doesn't that have more Christian ties than…_magical_?" She rubbed her jaw, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes—to the blood of Christ Himself and to the Holy Grail, but the well could just be a well, Hermione. It might not need to have been made by Druids or Merlin and Morgana themselves," said Percy. "The Chalice Well pumps twenty-five thousand gallons of water, and from what I've seen about resource management here in the Ministry, most of that water goes to major Wizarding communities across the island—Diagon, Hogsmeade, St. Mungo's…"

They both stood silently, frowning down at the map.

"This doesn't change anything," said Percy.

"No, but I was expecting something a bit more natural. Not an actual…_well_," muttered Hermione, fiddling with the end of a lock of her hair. "This would mean human involvement would be a bit easier than we thought. Even if it was ancient magic, there could still be people who seek to poison the water supply with a spell or potion of their own making that could…potentially mimic the effects of true love in the beginning before something catastrophic could happen afterward."

Percy nodded slowly. "There are still a lot of uncertainties about potential Dark wizard involvement." He waved his wand over the map, and the lights dimmed so the map was back to normal.

Hermione sighed and raked her fingers through her hair. "But you're right. It doesn't change anything. I still need to get down there and see what's going on. Maybe bring back a few water samples to test." She levitated the map back onto the wall. "I'll be off then."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Bring backup."

* * *

All things considered, Hermione may have thought to bring a better set of people with her to go down into a well that was causing hundreds of thousands of people to fall in love. But in all, honesty, she really could've brought worse.

She'd chosen three to accompany her to Glastonbury, to the famed Chalice Well with its red, iron-infused waters late at night since it was still a Muggle tourist spot. They couldn't very well snoop around with their wands out in the middle of the day unless they were planning on putting on a show for the Muggles.

Ron had been less than enthused, of course, considering it was past his bedtime. Fred and George, on the other hand, were practically giddy. Hermione wasn't quite sure if it was actual excitement or if their curiosity was simply supplemented by egregious amounts of caffeine they might've imbibed earlier in the day in preparation for their nightly venture.

Either way, the combination could've been worse.

As soon as the group Apparated straight to the iron-and-wood well cover, they were enveloped in a warmth that had them contemplating laying down on the grass and doing something that Ron refused to call stargazing but damn-well sounded a lot like it.

That was when the group split off into two conversations. Actually, it shouldn't be called "conversations" and more like "individual lip movements." Ron and George were chatting—something about Luna complaining Ron's departure from their bed meant a disruption of her sleeping pattern, which caused George to comment it was fairly reasonable for Luna, to which Ron replied that he'd paraphrased and that she'd said it involved something about _toindills_. Fred and Hermione, on the other hand, had turned to look at each other and saw _nothing else. _

It's not that they immediately jumped at each other in a tangle of tongues, limbs, and passion. Neither was there a lustful inferno that seared her skin and consumed her mind. It was just this incessant, irrepressible need to be with Fred—not just holding his hand or kissing him or hugging him. It was a bit unnerving, really, but there it was.

She tried to concentrate. She tried to focus on going down the well ladder. She tried to focus on pulling the shrunken chest out of her jumper and enlarging it to pull out the vials for water samples. She _tried_.

She managed to do it all, of course, but that didn't account for the gaps between each action in which she somehow found herself gravitating toward Fred, who seemed just as intent on getting to her. When Ron and George weren't actively trying to keep them apart, Fred and Hermione were reaching for each other—hugging, kissing (or at least doing their best to), pressing their foreheads together, holding hands, and any other action that made Ron roll his eyes, gag, retch, cringe, and/or shudder.

Ron had explained it that it wasn't because Hermione was his ex-girlfriend. It was simply because it was disgusting for him to see his brother and one of his best friends on the verge of procreation in a magical well, much less in his immediate vicinity. George was essentially on the same boat, though he had less qualms about the location; he was more fixated on the issue that he had to be privy to the potential conception of his future niece or nephew.

Once they'd established that, however, Ron had steered them back to the topic at hand, meaning what the bloody fuck they were supposed to be doing in a bloody well in the middle of the bloody night. His irritation immediately when he took a deep breath, though it was probably not because of the exercise but because of the magic that was so thick in the water that it was suffused in the air as well. He threw his arm over Hermione's shoulders to keep her from drifting back into Fred's embrace, which was already waiting and welcoming.

When George helped Ron down into the hole first, Fred and Hermione drifted back together, their hands clasping as they turned to the other before George noticed and intervened.

When Ron and George were discussing whether or not they should split up (George said it would save time; Ron refused since Hermione still had certain doubts about eliminating Dark wizard involvement as a possibility and so believed traveling as one group would be safer), Fred seized Hermione's hand and pulled her into what promised to be a good, long snog. Ron spotted them just in time, and suddenly they were pushed up against opposite sides of the wall.

When George and Ron were debating the odds of the ancient magic taking effect in the water of the well through contaminants (whether it be glowing rocks, glowing vines, or anything glowing or obviously magical), Fred came up behind Hermione, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck and her jaw. Ron and George leapt on them and yanked them again into separate hugs.

When Ron and George were bantering about the upsides and downsides of the "Matchmaker Phenomenon" versus the "Love Bug Infestation," Hermione snuggled up against Fred's side and was about to pull his head down into a kiss when George slipped and fell onto them.

When George and Ron were worrying about what they were supposed to do if they _did_ find contaminants and there therefore faced with the decision to either leave it or face potential catastrophic results should they disrupt ancient magic, Fred grabbed Hermione's hand and nearly escaped down the east tunnel of the hub they'd reached. They were caught when Fred and Hermione couldn't wait any longer to kiss and so stopped in the middle of the tunnel, but their lips barely touched when Ron and George nearly tackled them away from each other.

Those two deserved awards for coping so well—for keeping Fred and Hermione from christening the well and for doing all the work Hermione had meant to do. The two brothers had realized they were a bit less affected by the magic in comparison to the two who were an actual, _romantic_ couple. Brotherly love was strong, but no matter how deep the waters ran, the water was still.

Speaking of water, Ron and George retrieved samples from various branches of the well system and did their best to find any obvious contaminants, but even they couldn't hold off the effects for too long. Ron found himself daydreaming about Luna, and George began to sing Muggle songs he dedicated to Katie.

Once both of them began to sing that one bit with the heart going on and on from that movie about the tragedy of the sinking ship that Hermione said had actually happened (which led to Fred being able to sneak a sweet two-second peck on the lips), the two leaders of the group managed to snap out of the haze long enough to decide it was high time to get the hell out of that well.

Even if they hadn't found much of anything, really, they hadn't been attacked by Dark wizards or were incinerated by the strength of magic that swirled in the air, so Ron chalked it up as a victory. As long as they called it a reconnaissance mission, they did _damn_ well.

If they wanted to call it a mission to stop ancient magic, it was a failure on so many different levels. Therefore it would not be spoken about in such terms.

* * *

When the group Apparated back into Grimmauld Place, their heads cleared exponentially. The deep breaths they took actually helped rather than made everything so much worse. Ron simply set the shrunken chest on the kitchen table and stepped into the fireplace to Floo home. George eyed Fred and Hermione pointedly, who'd simply stood in place, both taking deep breaths and not really looking at anything in particular.

"So," said George slowly, prolonging the word longer than necessary.

Fred's jaw ticked, and Hermione's eyes slid onto George's face.

"I'm gonna go to Katie's," said George, clapping his hands together. He looked between the two with raised eyebrows and knowing eyes. "_I_…will be at _Katie's_…for the_ night_…and perhaps most of the _morning_." Then he paused and looked down at his watch. His eyes widened when he saw it was nearly dawn and then sighed heavily. "Right, I will be at Katie's for probably the entire _day_."

He nodded, stepped into the fireplace, and disappeared.

Fred and Hermione stood quietly for a few more seconds before she turned to him.

"I'm going to my flat," she said softly.

He met her eyes steadily and nodded. She nodded along with him and took his hand. His eyebrow rose.

"You're coming with me."

Hermione squeezed his hand and led him into the fireplace with her. She led him back out once they stopped spinning and stepped into the living room of her flat. He tugged her up against him, reaching up to cup her face.

And then he kissed her.

* * *

**Oh, my God, I'm such a bitch. I can't stop chortling. **

**Don't worry. This is still rated M, and you'll have pretty much an entire chapter devoted to my sad-ass attempts at smut. **

**God knows that'll probably take another two weeks.**

**I need help.**


End file.
